that it has been a good day. that i said something when she said we had no money. pointed out that we have food, shelter and heat .                  #whatmoredoyouexpect?



that we have our comfort and honest work.                           #whatmoredoyouexpect?



i am not righteous, though my breakfasts are sad now, by design. the cream is off.



limits.



i am pleased to say i wrote the book, bought the book, told the story of my life today.



#whatmoredoyouexpect?



sbm.

Dear home,
I'm writing this letter to catch up with you.
How are you? I'm well, for now.
Things were pretty dark, but I'm going somewhere new soon.
Maybe I'll find you there? I use to think you were here but, not so much anymore.
I wish I could see you now. All these memories, all the good times.
I don't know why you left or when really, but I hope you're well.
I've grown up so much, and not just because of the beard.
I've learned about all sorts of things, love, life, friends and family.
I have an idea of who I am, just not where yet.
I hope you're been well, you were always so good to me.
I have to go now, but before I do there's just one thing.
I miss you, so much.
Maybe I'll find you again soon.
With love, Me.

When two people pretend to control the moon, always calling for bedtime right in the middle of your play

When two people pretend their arms can shelter you from a world of cold, taking responsibility for your soul

When two people, for years, swallow their tears in your presence, all so they can pretend they know what'll happen next

All so you'll believe they can control what happens next

All because something told them
That this is life as it should be.

There must be a place where lost poems go
Those wisps of lines that slip our mind
with promises of finding paper or a rhyme

There must be a place where lost poems wait
Wandering invisibly around word gates
with flittering hearts anticipating their fate

There must be a place where lost poems meet
Those ideas we dream as we walk or sing
with hearts ready to burst with...

There...I lost it...

Different colored fruit
with various tastes
One hits the ground
and the others
go to waste

Different colored fruit
some bruised
some small
If one has a worm
you have to
destroy them all

Different colored fruit
believing in higher things
Worshiping their trees
Debating over the rings
they find when they
tear their Gods apart
Different colored fruit
some sweet
some ****

Different colored fruit
with evolving views
Growing with the season
some becoming softer
some turning darker hues

Different colored fruit
learning how to die
Some at peace
with falling
Some hoping
to float
into the sky

I have an obsession with boys with blue eyes. Not a deep blue like when the sun has kissed the horizon goodbye for the night. But an ice blue, like a glacier slowly melting down their face with sugar water. It pools in their mouth and waits for him to speak sweetness or for someone to come along an exchange it between soft pink lips. His cheeks have a blush that reminds me of rose petals floating in white tea. There’s always a light behind the glaciers regardless of if  colors of the northern lights are visible or if it’s the pitch black beyond Saturn. The light could be dimmed, but the ice magnifies it.

The priest puts his trust
In martyrs and miracles
Clutching his rosary and his celibacy
To his bursting breast
And humanity walks
Through a series of cages
Every day

The ***** puts her trust
In bordellos and bodies
Clutching her money and her condoms
To her brassy breast
And humanity walks
Through a series of cages
Every day

The lawyer puts his trust
In regulations and rules
Clutching his charters and his decrees
To his dusty breast
And humanity walks
Through a series of cages
Every day

We each put our trust
In roles and rituals
Clutching convention and convenience
To our timid *******
So humanity continues to walk
Through a series of self-made cages
Every day

                 By Phil Roberts